


these gods we raise

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Magic, Animal Traits, Animal Transformation, Animalistic, Come Swallowing, Corruption, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Excessive Come, Excessive Pre-come, Exhibitionism, F/M, Forest Sex (technically), Forests, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Hunters & Hunting, Knotting, M/M, Magic, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Predator/Prey, Prostitution, Ritual Sex, Rituals, Spitroasting, Throne Sex, Transformation, Voyeurism, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: If you're on the run from your Basically Evil noble-royal family and desperate to learn a kind of magic that doesn't seem to tie your soul up in any darker deals than you've already been offered with any darker creatures than you've already had to face, it makes sense to seek out someone who's been through the same thing, right?So what if that someone now runs a renowned and reputable brothel? There's a ton you could learn from her, and you're pretty fucking great at this whole sex thing, if you may say so yourself. Sure, you're only in training! But that means you'll get to learn all of the ropes before you have a go at servicing any of the more...intensepatrons. Right?...right?
Relationships: Cronus Ampora/Eridan Ampora/Feferi Peixes, Cronus Ampora/Eridan Ampora/Feferi Peixes/The Signless | The Sufferer, Cronus Ampora/Feferi Peixes, Cronus Ampora/The Signless | The Sufferer, Eridan Ampora/Feferi Peixes, Eridan Ampora/The Signless | The Sufferer, Feferi Peixes/The Signless | The Sufferer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Drone Season 2020





	these gods we raise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Shame_Basement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Shame_Basement/gifts).



> Hi Basement! This is a combination (sort of!) of three of your prompts. There are implications (or outright statements) of all of them having happened at one point. 
> 
> Request 2: Eridan undergoes body/brain changes! Various levels of animal-themed. (So do a couple others...)
> 
> Request 3: Rose met Signless once upon a time, and he dragged her out of some bad deals she'd made with another god-entity (the Horrorterrors, one of three major godly factions) via being hot and charismatic and redirecting her worship and "corrupting" her (according to the Horrorterrors, at least), until she realized that he was kind of cool and the HTs were a bad time. Eridan's on a similar route! But not with the Horrorterrors...
> 
> Request 4: Rose now owns a brothel! Cronus works there, and is the best employee available. He's currently training Feferi, but Jade, Jane, and Dirk also work there (and there are others, but I did not mention them by name), Orphaner Dualscar is a customer (hmmm) though he's not mentioned, and there are...well I did my best to get you into what I hope is a new kink!!
> 
> It's kind of intense, by the way. I hope you like it!

The first time you meet _the Patron_ (as everyone seems to call him in hushed whispers and excited tones), you have not yet finished your training. Cro's in the middle of instructing you, actually, two fingers curled lazily over your well-covered clit as he reminds you exactly how effective a tease can be, even through fabric, when the person doing it knows what they're about, and—

And, right, _the Patron_ , he comes in with a gust of cool air that somehow ends too heated, curling around your ankles and—

Maybe it's not so much that the air is heated as it is that your skin seems to heat up the moment the door opened? That the breeze is a reminder of exactly how alight you've been set?

You'll need to take a moment to figure it out properly! But, later, because you've got a client to look pretty for even if you're not called on for their particular tastes. Two, actually, there's a second cloaked figure just behind the first, and Cronus is already shifting up to a ready pose, easily directing you right into his own lap with a flick of his wrist. You'd love to be that good; you plan to, someday, be that good.

You don't plan to be as easily startled as him, though, because the second the door shuts behind these newcomers, the second one pulls back his hood and—

Look. You've been engaged to two Amporas in quick succession (and hadn't _that_ been funny, wondering what the hell had happened to Cronus Ampora, where the hell he'd gone, only to run across him at your new job, of all places), and you're well aware that the relationship between Cronus and his brother is, well, _fraught_ to say the least, but you think it's pretty fucking unfair that the guy who's supposed to be teaching you is the one who nearly shits himself at the sight of Eridan Ampora. It's not like Eridan's the only relation of his that shows up at the Lady Lalonde's brothel, after all.

Then again, it might just be an Ampora thing, to be that startled by sudden revelations. Probably it's something that gets tempered over time, though you couldn't be sure, given that the only information you have to go off of for older Amporas was the Lord Ampora's brief flicker of shock once he'd recognized you. Cronus' had been much more exaggerated, and, oh, you're getting distracted. Back to Eridan. And _the Patron_.

So Eridan's staring like he doesn't know what to do, or say, or where to even look, and you're of the opinion that maybe if you hold still long enough his brain'll reset and you can get out of this relatively unscathed.

Then again, you're sitting on the lap of the former Heir Ampora in a dress that looks just a _touch_ too revealing to be proper, so you're pretty well fucked regardless of what does or doesn't happen here.

Here is the scene that all of you present: Lady Lalonde does not do things by halves, which means the main room of the brothel changes from month to month, week to week, more or less often depending on her oft-mercurial moods. Today's look is designed for intimacy, secrecy (a stark change from last week's falling fountains of light and colour, the ones that picked up whatever tune Cronus might hum and sang it back to him), drifting clouds in a heavy woods, dotted here and there by the winking glow of will o' wisps and fireflies. The whole thing looked like it didn't quite fit into the space it was given, like you could wander off into the trees after the wrong sort of light and get lost there.

You think you'd really, _really_ like to try. Maybe once you get off your shift, if you can convince Cronus to come with.

The usual cast of characters are dressed to their preferred fashions. Jade's in something deep green, almost a shade too elegant when you know it's practically going to be ripped off of her the moment she takes up work, Dirk sprawled out in something pure white and edged in sunset orange-gold, loose and elegant and befitting of his occasional god complex, Jane in something with soft layers and homey seeming lace that does nothing to hide the hints of leather and the promise of rope when she so much as turns her head. You could go on and on and on, but you're trying to work on that, on keeping yourself from being so easily distracted.

Cronus is as mercurial as your Lady herself, after all, wearing next to nothing at all for his shift today. It's silky, you can tell that much, but your best guess after that is that it's some long stretch of cloth he's wrapped around his hips, barely held together by magic and lust ("Teasing at what you ain't showin them is far better than puttin it all out on display, Fef," he'd said) and designed to make him look like he'd just stepped out of an oil painting.

It's a little hard not to be resentful of the fact that he'd decked you out in the most obvious outfit ever, after all the work he'd done for himself. The dress is based on current royal fashions, sweeping skirts and tight chested, the laces cinched tight over bare skin, the bodice dipping too low for propriety, the material itself clinging enough to tease—you look good, sure, but you're not sure it's _you._

...and you still need to focus on everything going on around you. Fuck!

Cronus, unsurprisingly, recovers first. True, you're not the only ones out on in the main room, waiting to receive this mysterious patron, but Cronus has apparently always been a favourite of his. "Lord of Ferns and Forests," he says, his tone smooth, head tipping easily into a respectful half-bow as his arms tighten up around you. "Protea-hearted God, I hope your journey passed well." You have questions, and the temptation to ask them (regardless of your situation) is dire! Which is probably why Cronus discreetly elbows you in the side under the guise of shifting around to show the both of you off.

You've got the strangest feeling that all his care is for naught, that the unknown God (that's—that's not just a title, right?) was well aware of exactly what he was trying to do. "Well enough. I doubtless would have had a much easier journey if—"

Lady Lalonde sweeps in at that moment and you really wish she hadn't, wherever the god was taking that tangent of thought, it was making Cro's cheeks go pinker by the moment, and you really would have enjoyed seeing how that turned out for him. "Oriell. A pleasure, we hadn't expected you nearly so soon. Your rooms are, of course, ready—"

Holy shit. Lady Lalonde may be a lot of things but _tidy_ is not one of them, you'll admit to minor (major) shock that this God's room is ready on time—

"—and I'd be happy to send anyone you'd like to escort you to them."

You've got the funny feeling that this is a dance they've done before, the two of them, and you make a mental note to try and ask Cronus about it when you get the chance. He'll probably be pressed into servicing the newcomer (you're not entirely sure he'll take on Eridan, though, from all you know about the two of them), and you're betting Lady Lalonde will call on one of the more experienced—

"Hello, Rose. I'll take the pairing you've set up for a display," the God says, and you blink up at Cronus, your eyes wide. Uh. Holy shit. What?

Cro's grip on you does not tighten, and he does not falter. "You know she's still in training." It's not a question. Apparently _everyone_ here (except maybe Eridan) is aware of your status.

"I look forward to having had a hand in training her," Oriell says, and oh, okay. You're _definitely_ fucked. 

* * *

You end up in a room that seems designed for this specific patron, this specific god, Lady Lalonde's own altar to worship at (and the moment the door closes behind the four of you, you feel that particular prickle of her watching magic up her spine), and you find yourself wondering, not for the first time, exactly _how_ the Lady won all the power that she has.

(you won't have to wonder for very long.)

Cro's on his knees in front of the God before any of you can even speak, Oriell already sat in a throne befitting his glory and grace, and you're in Eridan's lap. It's...tense, and not, pressed up against his chest and feeling his heartbeat thud through your entire body, the sound of his life running ragged in your ears. His grip on you is tight; his eyes are locked on his...mentor, you'll assume, like he's afraid to look anywhere else. You don't quite blame him.

"It's so small this time," Cro says, and you've never heard him sound reverent like that before—it's the kind of tone he saves for training and teaching, for coaxing the best out of someone before they even really know what they can do, and hearing it now (while he's on his knees, while he's serving a higher god, while he's practically _begging_ to be fucked with every movement he makes) sends a shudder through you that has Eridan's grip tightening up. "May I?"

"Go ahead," Oriell says, one hand tangling easily into his curls. They must have done this hundreds of times before; Cronus leaning in slow to show his devotion, right hand braced on a solid thigh, left cupping his heavy balls beneath his half-soft dick. His usual impatience is tempered by something unspoken, mouth moving slow over what he's been given, working the God before him to a partial erection before taking him wholly, swallowing hard enough around that gentle length that you can see the bob of his throat.

And Oriell smirks.

"Eridan." You didn't even notice it—your hands are curled into the fabric of his traveling pants, but he's hard under you, tense under you, every possible sense of the word. "Settle."

You're not the only one who's in training, it seems—Eridan immediately releases you, and you stumble forward, off his lap, your eyes wide. Even if you'd known that there were strange things to be had at the Lady's brothel, stranger patrons to be found, servicing a god hadn't exactly been something you'd ever expected to do. At least, you hadn't expected to do it just _yet_.

"Oriell—"

" **Settle,** " the God says, and it has all the weight of command, sinking into your bones so hard you nearly drop to your knees. "Feferi. I'm curious to see what you can do. Shall I assume that most of your experience comes from this one?"

"Yes," you manage, eyes dipping down to Cronus (he's moaning, his thighs are splayed, you're understanding why he had to pull both hands away because he looks like he's about to start rocking against the air) then jerking back up to Oriell's face. "Yes, sir?"

"Let's put that training to the test." His eyes flash, and you stagger. "Knees."

This time, you drop. If Eridan weren't sitting in a chair, just behind you, you think he might've dropped too. "Sir—"

"Oriell," he corrects you, patience in his voice and amusement in his eyes.

"Oriell," you start again, well lost to whatever magic he's managed to pull. "Is—are you Lady Lalonde's patron god?"

Now his eyes are dancing properly, amusement spread to even his voice. "Could you see it being any other god? Really, I'd love to hear you hazard a guess."

"I mean, you seem the best fit for her, I'd just...I've never heard of you, s—Oriell."

"I'll admit to some surprise that you haven't yet been told this story." His hand tightens in Cronus' hair, and his hips jerk up into Cronus' mouth, and he doesn't even seem the slightest bit ruffled, fucking Cronus so hard he chokes while calmly exchanging pleasantries with you. "Maybe you'll hear it soon. In the meantime..."

Oriell's free hand twists in some kind of complicated maneuver that seems to imply more dexterity than a usual human's limb, and your clothes vanish. Behind you, Eridan makes a strangled noise that's almost adorable—the last time you'd heard it, you'd just kissed him on the cheek after a dance—and you feel a _hwff_ of air as he reaches out towards you and barely doesn't make contact. 

"Much better. Cronus?"

Your mentor pulls back slowly, dragging it out like he's putting on a show (he always is, you've learned that already, you should know this, Feferi) and you're treated to the sight of his swollen mouth, painted sticky with his own spit and Oriell's precum. There's...there's a lot of it, far more than there should be, you're fairly sure, for any normal—no. You're going to have to stop getting stuck on that, if he's a god. Find a new baseline for normal when you're a little less turned on by the way precum's fairly dripping off his fully erect dick, dragging down Cronus' chin and throat in long, viscous strands. "C'mon, sweetness. Show him."

He moves, sitting down with his back to Oriell's knees, the delicate silk drapery of his outfit tugged ever so slightly aside to show off his own cock. It's bigger than Oriell's, though right now you'd be hard pressed to properly compare the two. Whatever magic exists in the air is of a variety that you haven't yet learned, though you think you'd be willing to try. It coaxes you forward on your knees, until you're between Cronus' splayed thighs, until you're tucking your hair back (he helps, twisting it up for you when you give it up as a lost cause), until your mouth's brushing over his cock, tasting the slick of his precum, teasing the skin that's pulled back from its head—

Cronus' hands fall away from your hair, and you look up from your position on the floor to see that Oriell's jerked him up. The chair has...changed, somehow, a transformation on par with anything you've seen Lady Lalonde do, seat spreading out into wide legs with a dip or a space in the centre. Whatever he did, exactly, somehow makes it the perfect height for Cronus' head to rest while Oriell tips forward just so, shoving the entirety of his cock into Cronus' mouth. Cro's body looks stretched and strained, beautiful muscles of his chest on display as he arches back to keep his head in position, and for a moment he looks like he's finally found a bracing point—then Oriell hauls him closer again, and it starts all over.

Oh, fuck. You wish he hadn't taken your clothes. You're soaked, you can feel it, and you're so, _so_ sure that everyone in the room can see it.

"I thought you were given an order?"

Oriell doesn't sound displeased. You'd categorize this amongst the rest of his amused tones, assume that he's mainly interested in teasing a reaction out of you, if it weren't for the gesture he follows his words up with. Cronus' hands snap up, tangle in your hair again, and before you can brace for him to haul you down onto his cock (you've been trained for _that_ , at least), he's lifting up, thighs trembling and legs straining against a power not his own. Oriell's levitated him off the ground, like he's slid some invisible bench beneath him, and you want to question, but Cronus is already hauling you down to take his entire cock in one go, a demand of the most urgent and highest order, and—

Your mind seems to go blank for a moment. There's the warmth of Cronus against your skin; cheeks, jaw, chin, lips, shoulders; the warmth of him in your mouth; his weight heavy on your tongue; and the way he hits the back of your throat in jerking, erratic movements that would usually make you gag. Then you're back before the audience, desperately trying to brace his weight up enough that you can suck him off properly as some hedonistic god all but uses his face as a throne.

Okay. You think, uh—you think everyone here might be really, _really_ into this.

You think they're maybe going to get you into this yourself.

Then Oriell comes, and everything seems to change.

* * *

Between blinks, the room's shifted: Something that had already seemed to fit the god quite well ( _and isn't it interesting,_ you ask yourself, _that you couldn't paint a clear mental picture of what it looked like beyond "there's a throne and it suits him"?_ ) is now a near match for the main room, borders of a clearing mimicking those deep parts of the woods that leave you wondering how far it's safe to venture before you start sinking under. The main differences are the lack of mist and the complete and total absence of the fireflies. Instead, all light seems to come from—no, _comes_ from torches thrust into the earth at the very edge of the created clearing, just where the shadows go a deeper, darker sort of green.

You're faintly aware that you can't even seem to see the door.

Cronus had finished, at some point, judging by the cum spattered cross your skin and heavy in your throat, and you swallow automatically, looking around the newly changed room with wide eyes, trying to seek him out.

When you find him, it's not at all what you expected.

He and Eridan are kneeling at either side of Oriell's throne, clear in their supplication to a higher god, and seeming to enjoy his hands running through their hair. You'll go with _seeming_ —each stroke has them shuddering a little more, and, for a moment, you wonder if their hair is growing longer as well—and then Oriell _speaks_ , and the sound of it grounds itself out in your bones, jerking your attention back up to his face.

" **Now, then,** " he says, looking you over. Horns sprout up from his head, long, branching antlers that put you in mind of a deer—then seem to fade, leaving behind a wild tumble of hair. Before your eyes, they sprout again as curling ram horns that twist themselves into tiny infinities before spreading up and out in an elk's rack, thickening and broadening on their way down until they'd more fit a steer than anything else, and it takes his voice to jerk you out of the reverie. " **Are you enjoying yourself, Feferi? You seem quite distracted.** "

"I—yes, Lord," you say, because it's all you can cling to now. _Lord of Ferns and Forests_ , Cronus had said, _Protea-hearted God_. "Watching you change is—it's mesmerizing, Oriell." Caught yourself before the sir this time, but you think you've only been startled out of formality by the sheer shock of the situation. Even Lady Lalonde's transformations are nothing like this.

His skin—fur, scales—shift to match his horns as often as they don't, hands remaining _mostly_ the same, even as they seemed to have a touch of every other animal he's changed into in them. His feet end in paws and claws and hooves more often than they don't, and between his thighs, his cock ranges across the spectrum. Thick, thin, short, long, each appearance is different than the last and more than half of them don't even seem quite _human_ (and you've got suspicions about the ones that do). He's had the two deeply-grooved claspers of a shark, the thick girth of a stallion, the thin length of a deer, shapes that were big and pink and almost conical and put you in mind of the sea as they curved and waved (whales, you'd discover later, whales and dolphins alike), pointed heads and slim shafts and the barely-bulging threat of a knot to come, petite and stubby and spiky and curving and conical shapes, and variations on sizes thereof and shapes therein. Some of them don't even look real, like twisting tentacles or combinations of creatures or things better suited to a monster than the beautiful god before you, and your thighs spread wider as you watch him change.

" **Rose has much to learn, though she's doing well,** " he replies, amused. " **However, I believe it's your turn for another lesson.** "

You're ready to fight against whatever force is keeping you to the ground, to do exactly as he commands, and that readiness means jealousy pools fast in your stomach when he gestures up the boys instead. They're—oh, _fuck_. You weren't wrong about the hair, it seems, but that's not the only change in them. They're starting to look a little furrier themselves, their teeth sharper, and when they turn towards you, their eyes catch the light in a distinctly non-human way—

"Wolves," you breathe out, looking between Eridan and Cronus and Oriell. "You're turning them into wolves?"

"Not fully," he says, and his voice is a normal balance again, reassuring and calm. "And not permanently. **Although I doubt they'd mind either, at this point, hm?** "

They make vocal their agreement, sounding more like growls than actual words, and he tugs Cronus forward first. Eridan whines in disappointment, dropping back down to kneel at the foot of the throne (it's closed up again, no spread thighs or dip for fucking a throat) as Cronus spreads himself out, back to you and the beginnings of a tail lifting up high. Oriell's cock has settled on a form (temporarily), and Cronus is left with two claspers to ease himself onto, the both of them still slick with...you're not sure, at this point. His own spit and all the cum and precum of the previous round, maybe? Or another nigh unholy (too holy) spill of precum made ready for just this moment?

He takes them, though—and Oriell's hands (claws) clamp down on his hips, digging in through growing fur to draw blood, his teeth (shark sharp) sink into Cronus' shoulder, and he _fucks_ your mentor, hard, driving thrusts that jolt him high (would jolt him higher, if not for those three points of pain-pleasure contact). You can hear Cronus getting off to it, even if you can't see his face, he's grabbing at Oriell, at himself, at the throne, like he can't think of what will stabilize him, like he can't decide what he wants to touch most, you can see the way his back arches as much as he's allowed, hear him howling loud and long each time Oriell takes him _just_ right—

It makes you want to run, it makes you want to take his place, it makes you want to take _him_ , and you're so caught up in the overwhelming rush of it that Oriell has to order you to drop your hands from where they'd landed on your own body.

Eridan's watching intently, and he has to be feeling the same things you're feeling, you're so damn sure of it, and—

Oriell comes again, and things do not change this time. Cronus does not come (is not allowed to come), pushed off Oriell's lap to land on soft leaves beneath his feet, an eager Eridan immediately pulled up in his place. You hadn't noticed at first, but the well-fucked and still-horny Cronus looks...significantly more wolfish than his panting, needy brother. And Oriell's dick has changed (and paused) again, this time a thick stallion's length that looked like pure sex and muscle, at strong contrast with his shifting crown of horns and still-changing hands and feet and skin beneath. Like this, with unchanging something for your eyes to lock onto as your mind tries to process the rapid, continuous transformations, he seems more otherworldly, less real, like the chaos gods of old.

He's not that, though. You're not sure of much, but you're sure enough there.

Eridan takes him slowly, facing you as Oriell catches his legs under his knees and guides him steadily down onto that massive girth and length. You can see his full erect dick start to change, growing larger and pointing at the tip, curved at the base, his balls heavy already. The second he's fully seated in the god's lap, your slow view changes to something much more raw and ragged, though—Oriell's as hard on him as he was on Cronus, bouncing him up and down the entirety of his horse cock, fucking Eridan so deep you could see the bulge in his stomach.

" **You know, little one,** " Oriell says, as he bottoms out in Eridan's ass, making the wolf-man shudder all around that massive length of a cock, " **I'm almost done here. You might want to consider, ah...starting the next round of the ritual.** "

"The ritual?" You feel like you've taken leave of all of your senses.

" **I'll make it simple for you,** " he says, and his eyes flash burning red-gold in the firelight. " _Run._ "

Your mind can't imagine how to obey.

Your body will do.

* * *

The not-forest paths ( _since when did this room, remember that it's a room, remember where you are_ ) are soft under your bare feet, the woods an almost-welcoming alternative to that circle of firelight where everything had gone so right (wrong?). It's hard to chase the thought out of your head, even with the pounding of your heart in your chest, even with the pounding of your feet against soft moss and leaf and forest floor.

( _Oriell's eyes had flashed red-gold, the flames flared and leaped up all around you, you could see the shadows grow, you could hear Eridan and Cronus howl in perfect time_ )

Another howl rises up to the left, behind you, and you jerk right, ducking between two old birch trees, rounding a pine and passing an oak. You've got no idea if any of these are right for the climate, time, place—you don't think they care, either. Hell, they might be shapeshifters as much as Oriell himself, as much as Rose's power would allow.

 _Lady Lalonde_ , you remind yourself. _Don't drop decorum now._

So much good decorum had ever done _you_. Leaving you here, running through an enchanted not-woods, not-room, two hungry wolves chasing after you at the behest of a lonely man's god—

Okay. Fuck.

You'd never felt more _free_.

They were hunting you, fast on your trail and herding you towards some unknown (known) conclusion, and you could feel them herding you, working together in that instinctive wolf pack way, and some primal part of you was...alight, at the thought of it, at imagining them tracking you down and taking you down and pinning you and—

Okay, fuck, you need to focus on something other than the heat building in your stomach and the slick spreading between your thighs. Something _besides_ the fact that...maybe you weren't so opposed to those wolf-human forms Eridan and Cronus had been wearing as they'd chased you down. Presumably. You haven't actually turned back to check, and you're not about to just now.

 **Not bad, little one,** Oriell says, and his voice comes from all around you. If this forest is an extension of his will imposed onto the unreal space of Lady Lalonde's brothel, you are going to be _pissed_. **My wolves are having a better time than I expected—perhaps you're enjoying this chase as well? There's no shame in it if you are.**

Your hand snaps out and slaps the trunk of the next smooth tree (beech, you think) as you run past it.

You're pretty sure that amused him. He laughs, at least. **We could always use more of that fire. Now then, I feel as if I've left you in the dark for far too long.**

The next turn's bound to lead you right back into the clearing with a setup like that. You twist left instead, barrel through the leaves of a low-hanging tree—

You're back in the clearing again, and you have a split second to realize that fact before two sets of paws come bounding out of the woods just in time to knock you down. Adrenaline slows time for you, and you see Oriell's hand twist, watch the ground below you turn soft with blankets and cushions made out of moss and stones and leaves, and then you're landing face first in it, two snarling, snapping wolf-human-mixes still over you, pressing your face down into what's already turned back to leaf litter and dirt.

" _Mine_ ," one of them snarls, and the other snaps the same thing back, and you moan, trying to take stock of everything: You're uninjured, you know that much, and more than that (other than the sweet ache of your lungs and pleasant burn in your legs), there's no sign of your run.

More than that, you can feel the heat of them over you, almost see the steam coming off of their hard cocks, feel them drag across your thighs and coat themselves in your slick. Fuck. _Fuck_.

" **Share.** " Oriell's word is still law, and you find yourself being hauled onto your side, Cronus trapping one of your legs against the forest floor with one of his, Eridan hauling the other up to your chest. Your hair's all in a tumble around you, but you shake it clear to see them—and you can still recognize them, even partway into another shape, even with their claws digging into your shoulders and their jaws flashing close to your soft skin. " **Good boys.** "

You moan again, and they howl in reply, dog dicks pressing up against you— _into_ you—

Eventually, you'll want to ask how they managed it. For now, you can only send up your own howl as the ache between your thighs is _finally_ filled.

They're ruthless with you, absolutely relentless, pinning you between them as they fuck you harder and deeper, laying claim as much as they can. Their grunts sound oddly right, every animalistic sound fitting for the position they've put you in, and when one of them catches at your shoulder with teeth and tongue, you moan again for him, wanting to spur them both on. It feels so fucking _good_ , even under the stretch and ache of two of them inside of you, and you want more of it, more of them, more—

" **I can see how much you want them. I could make it easier for you, this time, make it possible for you to take them.** "

He snaps his fingers and your head clears completely, everything goes silent and still and grey around you, and you can _think_. "Here's the thing, though," he says, his voice even and eyes calm. He looks and sounds the same as he had when he'd first walked into the Lady's main room. "It has to be your choice. You can get up and walk out of here right now, and no one will hold it against you. I can ease or erase your memories and desires for you, or leave them as a pleasant remembrance. I could make you wary again, I could change your mind, whatever you asked me to. But I can't transform you the way I can them, I can't teach you the way I taught Rose, unless it's _your_ decision. Your choice."

You look around the room, at all the grey hues and the shapeshifters you've found yourself between, you glance upwards towards the frozen cloud of lavender purple that marks Lady Lalonde's scrying powers, the sign that she's watching over you (and watching everything that happens as well). Then you look back up at him, and you nod your head. "Absolutely. Yes."

He beams; he snaps his fingers, and the world swirls back into all its colour and light as he kneels before you.

His cock's small again, the same one Cronus had serviced, and he's still fully human-shaped when you look up at him, a disconcerting change to your newly re-addled mind. "Drink," he tells you, and his voice sounds almost the same as it did when he'd first walked into the Lady's main room. You don't hesitate to take him into your mouth, letting him lay heavy on your tongue as you try to force yourself to remember how this goes while his (your) wolves rut against you, their knots already a promise of the swelling to come. His precum's already spilling out, slicking its way down your throat, and you shudder, leaning forward as much as your wolves will allow you, just to obey his commands. 

Oriell's hand twines into your hair, tugging it gently out of the way, and the Amporas take advantage of your momentary distraction to thrust into you _fully_ , their knots growing the moment they're inside. You do not cry out; you are not allowed; his hands are firm in your hair, keeping your mouth pressed to the base of his cock as he jerks his hips forward in partial thrusts that keep him firmly placed against your lips, a constant reminder of what's to come.

Against you, Eridan and Cronus grind almost helplessly, still caught up in the rut and desperate to fuck you, still unable to do anything more than want and whine when they've trapped themselves so neatly. You can _feel_ the stretch of your body to accommodate him, and it seems more than impossible, seems like you shouldn't have been able to even think of taking them—

One of your hands drifts downwards, and you can feel the outlines of them, where they've stretched you out and claimed you whole. You look up at Oriell, helpless yourself, and he grins. "Nice, isn't it? Having a canid's parts inside you like that? You'll still enjoy it even when it's only the one of them, trust me."

"Mmnngh," you say, and he strokes over your hair like you've offered him the highest praise.

"I'm afraid you'll be stuck here for quite a bit," he says. "My recommendation would be to relax and enjoy it."

And then he begins thrusting again, claiming your throat in the harshest of ways as you focus on trying to walk the balance of enjoying it and keeping what little sanity you have left afloat.

* * *

Hours might pass. Realistically, based on what you know of canine biology, it's likely been half an hour or so, but you spend most of it shivering and shuddering as whatever kind of spill their mixed biology has given them leaks into you slowly. You'd expected them to dismount and pull away, once the mating was done, but they're tucked tighter on either side of you, Eridan snuggled affectionately to your front and Cronus sturdy against your back.

It's a stark contrast to the way Oriell keeps using your mouth, each thrust sending another spill of fluid (precum, cum, you weren't even sure anymore) deep down your throat.

Then the knots go soft, loose and limp enough that your boys—wolves—can pull out of you and release all the cum that had threatened to spill out of you in one viscid rush, and the god had thrust down your throat one last time, spilling harder than he had all this time before (how you could have ever thought that everything earlier was anything but his precum, you're not sure). He holds you still until you swallow it all, refusing to pull back even as it leaked out of your mouth around his dick, coating your jaw and chin and slicking down your throat, running over his balls and across his thighs—you're a fucking mess, and he's delighting in it, so far as you can tell.

It's then that you realize he _still_ hasn't let you come. Fuck. _Fuck_.

"How," you try, and your voice is half a rasp of what it previously was. You can't even frame the question—how could you? You didn't even _notice_ that you had yet to come, you'd been too caught up in the lust-hazy feel-good of being fucked and claimed and used like that.

Oriell rises from kneeling to standing so smoothly it makes you question what you'd seen just moments before. Eridan and Cronus are snapping sleepily at one another, only to be distracted by his seed on your skin, taking turns licking at some of it before he speaks. " **Down,** " he says, and oh, he's back to his ever-changing form. You're afforded an excellent view of him turning his back on the three of you (yep, that was a changing tail too) as he turned to walk back, to once more take a seat on his throne. " **The mind is rather easily changed, little one. You'll be surprised, when your lessons start.** "

Seeing his back's raised another question in your mind, actually. "Ah—" you say, then end up having to fight off a fit of coughing despite all your best intentions to ask about his own previously shifting form.

" **Everything except birds,** " he reassures you anyway, as if he'd heard what you'd actually intended to say. " **Their wings are lovely—** " and you can see a broad pair, pursuit hunter's shape, stretch out from his back, " **—but as aesthetic as they are in flight, they're basically otherwise...useless.** " And now he gestures down, as if to demonstrate. Cloaca. He has a point. " **Unless we're talking about ostriches, I suppose.** " Oh, _fuck_. That's. Wow.

"Okay," you manage, and find yourself proud that you're even getting out a second word. "So you prefer—"

" **Anything that interests me,** " Oriell says, and beckons you closer. You hadn't thought that you could stand again, but you find yourself rising off the ground and staggering towards him, as graceful as you can pretend to be under the circumstances. " **We're not quite done yet, though.** "

You come to a halt in front of his throne, swaying as you try to keep yourself upright. "What's next?" 

He looks you over, and some fanciful part of you thinks (hopes) that maybe he likes what he sees. " **We're going to see how well you can handle a change, little one. Up.** "

By this point, you're not even a little surprised when you find yourself in his lap with no clear recollection on how, exactly, you'd gotten there. It seems to simply be a function of his will being imposed upon the universe, the way everyone moves and transforms—oh, shit, those are his hands on your body.

There's a key difference between your current situation and the ones Cronus and Eridan had been in. True, you're facing him, just like Cronus is, and true, he's hoisting you up under the knees just like he did with Eridan, but the dick under you is _still_ changing, twisting into one shape after another before your very eyes, some variations on it so long or big or thick that the reach up to brush against your folds, thump against your clit, or twist themselves over your thighs for the brief flashes of seconds they're there.

"Uhm," you manage to say, reaching for his shoulders. You're more surprised by his knowing smirk than the twin pairs of hands that grab a wrist each and haul your arms behind your back. Most of this ritual seems to be centred around the helplessness reaching up, anyways. "You're—"

" **This is part of it,** " Oriell assures you, and the boys switch behind you, Eridan bracing your back and pinning your wrists as Cronus moves around—they look less wolfish, you think, maybe? You can't drag your eyes away from Oriell for more than a moment, but you hadn't felt any claws or fangs—to catch his dick with one hand and spread you open with the other. " **I assure you, you'll enjoy this.** "

You can't resist the urge to quip back; "I'm a little more worried about surviving it, actually," and you're rewarded with another smile from him.

And then, of course, he and Cronus seem to judge that the time is right, and you're being hauled down the entire conical length of a Cervidae cock, throwing your head back to cry out as it bottoms out inside of you and immediately shifts into the spiky hemipenes of an oversized snake variety you can't name, back down into a fox's pointed end and not-yet-knot. Eridan and Cronus are both behind you again, and your thighs are trapped up against you by Oriell's body now, unable to move even an inch without his leave. He's barely even thrusting into you, letting the changes do all the work of dragging back and forth across the brink of orgasm. You get the shark claspers Cronus took, the stallion Eridan rode, more besides, whale cocks that curve themselves to fuck and fill you as much as they can, fully swollen knots that leave you breathless and squirming, spikes and spines and cones and cylinders—

" **They've all taken this at least once,** " comes that voice in your ear again. " **Some of them enjoy it enough to take it more than once. Would you like to guess who?** "

You think you reply—you know you _tried_ to—and then he'd shifted into an elk, or a moose maybe, and you'd cried out instead.

It's a signal of some kind to him, maybe; he starts moving, deep and slow, your knees hooked over his shoulders with his hands on your ass, each movement dragging you all up and down the length of his various cocks (save when a knot locks you into place and he tugs you up and presses you down _anyway_ ), a rawness to each pull-thrust that feels as rough as it must look gentle. You've never felt anything like this, like you're caught in the eye of a never-ending orgasm, that if you reached out to touch it, take it, _feel_ it, you'd be torn apart by the pleasure-pain, like if you _don't_ make a move soon, you're going to die like this—

One palm (human, maybe) flattens out at the base of your spine. The other cups your head.

" **Come,** " he says—

**Author's Note:**

> Haha wow I have so many end notes! And other ideas for this AU...Basement, I can show you the list after reveals if you like!
> 
> \- Dualscar knows EXACTLY where Cronus is, but he didn't tell Eridan or Feferi or any of the other noble/royals  
> \- Feferi was as shocked as Eridan to run into Cronus there, but they've bonded a lot since (previously she was closer to Eridan)  
> \- There's about a 5-year age difference between Cronus and Eridan!  
> \- They probably won't end up having sex in this AU, but there IS some other Amporacest going on that could be expanded upon  
> \- At the moment, there's a quiet little war going on in all corners of the pantheon, and certain mortals are "key pieces" to be claimed by any god with the will and skill  
> \- Eridan is currently "in training" for the same position as Rose occupied previously—he's Signless' apprentice, basically, but the exact terminology depends on where they can travel together  
> \- They can't travel often because Eridan still has duties as the heir to his House  
> \- His reasons for teaming up with Signless will be revealed later! Unless someone guesses them in the comments, then I'll answer.  
> \- Signless' name comes from a couple of places! "Oriol" means "Golden", but originally it was a rearrangement, shortening, and extension of "Oriole", like the birds—they're that orangey red-gold that make them seem like not-quite-real creatures for a second, and I thought that would be fitting for him. Amusing, too, considering his griping about birds!  
> \- Some of Rose's powers come from working with Signless, some of them are from her own inherent magic abilities. All the other characters in this universe have magic (in varying amounts, at varying levels of skill and control), and most of them will have specific skill sets that can be impacted or influenced by other powers  
> \- Rose is on track to become a deity.


End file.
